Page 8 of Enchanted Village

Jeremiah wiped at his own tears, which had started to fall. “We’re going to have to work in their robe shop. We have to work . . . retail.”

This was said with such disgust that the pair both immediately lapsed into louder sobs, which was a well-timed thing, as Liza had started to cough to hide her laughter. As the owner of a bookshop, she no doubt knew just how difficult working retail would be for the pair—and was picturing their expressions the first time someone told them to “smile for the customer.” At least Margaret let them be who they were.

“Oh, well, new adventures,” Margaret said, stepping away to give the pair some space for their dramatic display. “So . . . you won’t be able to work tonight?”

They shook their heads.

“We’re sorry,” Hyde said. “Mom’s told us to head home immediately. Please don’t hate us, Miss Margaret. We couldn’t bear it.”

Margaret blinked at them. “Of course I don’t hate you. Just . . . chins up, all right? Just do your best out there.”

They flanked her then, hugging her with such intensity she feared they might smother her. And then, with teary glances back her way, they took their leave, lingering in the doorway to blink at her before finally letting the door shut behind them. She half expected them to appear in the window, haunting her from the outside, but no. They were simply gone.

“Well then,” Liza said. “Everyone’s full of surprises today, aren’t they?”

Margaret shook her head. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard them talk. I thought they hated me.”

Liza laughed. “I knew they looked up to you, but I didn’t know they worshipped you. I wouldn’t be shocked if they have a Margaret Nettle shrine.”

Margaret rolled her eyes and slapped Liza’s shoulder playfully before heading to the bar. She was running low on time and needed to get the garnishes set up for opening in a few hours.

“Need help?” Liza asked. “I can get you started on setup.”

Before Margaret could answer, Liza took out her wand, flicking it effortlessly. Instantly, the candles on the walls were lit, filling the room with a soft, warm glow. Next, the chairs adjusted themselves, moving to the tables that Margaret preferred them in at the start of the night. The corner of the large, patterned rug that spanned the center of the room flopped back over and into place, and the wooden chairs pushed themselves in against the tables they surrounded. Lastly, the many portraits and paintings that lined the stone walls straightened, and the large fireplace at the center of it all roared to life.

Liza grinned, then looked at Margaret and winced. “Sorry. I know you like to do things yourself, but with the Princes of Darkness gone—”

Margaret shook her head and held up her hand to cut Liza off. “It’s great, Liza. Thank you. I need all the time I can get.”

Normally, Liza was right, and Margaret insisted on doing setup on her own—meaning, without any magic to help her. Margaret couldn’t do magic, had never been magical, and on her worst days, the reality of that failure ate her alive. But that lack of magic had also pushed her, had forced her to be fiercely independent. When people whispered about “how could the daughter of a Nettle witch be devoid of magic,” Margaret had thrown herself into becoming the kind of woman who could run an entire pub by herself if she had to. She wouldn’t let the fact that she didn’t have an ounce of Liza’s spell work keep her from honoring her mother and grandmother by maintaining the Toasty Owl’s reputation as the finest, coziest pub around. She would work twice as hard on her drinks and everything else to make sure that there was never a doubt about her being the pub’s owner. No matter what.

But this time, her friend was right: She was suddenly down two employees, and their competence aside, she needed to make sure the pub was in decent shape for tonight.

“I can stay and help you serve, too,” Liza offered. “I was going to get the bookkeeping done for last month, but if you need me—”

“You’ve done plenty,” Margaret said, smiling. “I’ll be fine. It won’t be my first night flying solo. And I’m sure Bernie will step up if I need her.”

She glanced at the dragon still snoozing in her bowl. Bernie did not deign to respond to the suggestion she would do anything other than sleep or cause mischief, but Margaret smiled anyway.

“All right,” Liza said. “Well, let me know immediately if any eligible men show up tonight. I want a full report now that you’re reentering the dating pool. In fact, maybe I should help you pick out a dress before I go. Something that says more bar wench, if you know what I—”

“Good night, Liza,” Margaret said, all but pushing the witch out the door.

Chapter Five

In the time he’d spent living in Hex Hollow—relatively brief as it might have been—Silas had seen his fair share of oddities. Buildings that shrank or stretched based on the time of day. Clothing that shimmered and changed color and fabric before his very eyes. Dustpans that dueled in the hallways of the inn.

And yet, the thing that his mind seemed unable to shake was the woman from yesterday.

Was it the creature in her arms that unsettled and stuck with him, the thing that had looked like a cross between a bird, a spider, and a large terrier? It had to be. That and the way she handled it so cavalierly, as if this was an everyday occurrence. And maybe it was an everyday occurrence for her. Maybe she was some kind of keeper of creatures. He hadn’t even gotten her name, after all. He’d given her his, but she hadn’t reciprocated. Silas respected this, of course. That was why, when she’d been distracted by her friend’s approach, Silas had nodded to her back and turned on his heels. He knew how to make a graceful exit.

Still, though, he found himself intrigued by the witch. He could still see her so distinctly, the way her auburn curls had whipped in the wind, the constellations of freckles dusted on her nose and forehead. The way the sweater and skirt she wore hugged her curves. The fullness of her lips and the way her eyebrow arched when she corrected him.

He shook his head. These weren’t thoughts for grading papers. And he had so, so many papers to grade this day. Honestly, any day seemed like he had an unwieldy amount of them to get through. Part of it was that he insisted on personalized feedback, and part of it was that it was fascinating to see how his magical students approached non-magical work. They were frequently baffled as to why non-magical folks insisted on making their lives so unnecessarily hard. And their questions. They were brimming with them.

Where does the fire come from? And why are there so many steps to get to the fire in the first place? Is a match like a wand but it only does one thing? What’s the point of that?

Silas didn’t mind the inquiring, particularly as he had always been the kind of kid who asked too many questions himself, and he’d grown into the kind of adult who also asked too many questions. This had seemed to make him into a good scientist, but he hadn’t been able to handle the hours spent toiling away on lonely experiments. He’d needed people, the way he’d always had people to chat with at his father’s carpentry shop. But when Dad had retired and closed the business, Silas had needed something else to do at the not-quite-young but not-exactly-old age of twenty-seven. He’d landed on what he thought was the perfect avenue: teaching.